Day 45
Chapter 9
Everything ached. What time was it? What
day was it? Daedalon's body felt like lead, heavy and unfamiliar. Not hot any more at least, and her head was clearer. Still a way to go but thankfully the worst of the illness had passed. Still, it left her weak and disorientated. And... different, somehow. Wrong. There was no word to describe the sensation beyond “different”.
There was a warmth. The feeling like someone else was with her. Someone bigger, longer than she was.
Had there been? She couldn't remember. The last day or so was so foggy she could scarcely pick out any details. Saisset had been there, that much stuck with her. And he'd visited again as there had been a plate of food. She also barely remembered getting up to eat before curling up again. Between the increased gravity and her frailness in the moment the Obelisk debated if she should try getting up. If only to look outside, check the time, get some fresh air to clear her head.
With some effort Daedalon rose, sluggishly meandering over to the boarded window. Flicking the latch she clumsily swung the cover inside, the effort taxing her strength and making her shoulder complain all the more. Straight away the cool, evening air caressed her face, ruffling her mane. It missed her, and she it. Part of being a Wind dragon, she supposed, even if she was still learning to hear the whispers.
It was pleasant, as was the light level. It felt good to not be blinded by daylight any more. Being sick sucked. Same with not feeling like a drummer was using her skull for practice at every little sound. Dragons were chattering in the streets – though, she noted, there seemed to be even less around than usual – as wagons and carriages and carts rumbled up the cobblestone roads with varying degrees of squeakiness. Even the most high-pitched noises didn't claw at her brain now.
From this side of the room Daedalon could see the river snaking around the side of the lair up until a little before it met the watermill, blocked from view by the rest of the Keep. She couldn't help but smile at a familiar purple figure sat on one bank, legs in the water as a smaller, pink shape swam about. It faltered, however, when she realised there was someone else with Saisset. They seemed to be talking. But she couldn't make out who it was, much less if she knew them. Vision blurred with the effort so it was decided it wasn't important enough.
As she flumped back into her bed the Obelisk told herself to ask the Wildclaw about it tomorrow. For now, a bit more rest. This time accompanied by a comforting warm breeze.
The next morning saw Daedalon wake well and healthy, though still weakened from the experience. It was a valuable one, she deemed, though not one she'd like to go through again. She decided to greet the day again, plodding to the balcony door to open it and stepped outside. Once again the morning air was fresh and cool. She pricked her ears. Nope, still nothing. Oh well, she was getting used to not hearing anything now. Plus she was still recovering which didn't help.
Then she frowned as she looked up at the cloudless sky. Was it early again? How many times has this happened where she'd woken at dawn instead of early morning? At least, it was too dark to be morning yet. Right? Hefting herself up on the guardrail the Obelisk surveyed the town: Active, as if it were normal. Was she seeing things? Did the fever affect her eyesight somehow? Surely the sky should be bluer, not grey.
A grumbling from her belly tugged her away from the train of thought. Right, she could manage food again. That was good. Casting the heavens another doubtful look Daedalon slipped back on all fours and began the trip to the kitchen. Something at the back of her mind tried to remember something she was going to do today. It escaped her. Breakfast should help.
She didn't get far.
“Hey you!” She froze, fur standing on end at the booming voice from downstairs. It was the first time she'd heard it yet it still gave her a feeling of dread. Almost unable, she managed to turn her head enough to see who was calling to her. “Oh pah, you're not the Wildclaw runt.” The stony Gaoler snorted in distaste, Daedalon recognising the heavy-furred dragon as the one holding Eudoxia previously. Was this Rochelle? ...Wait, Wildclaw runt? First of all, rude. Second of all, did she mean Saisset?
She was going to talk to Saisset. About... something.
“Do you... want me to find him for you?” Daedalon noted how hoarse her voice sounded, hoping the antlered dragon would as well and leave her alone.
If she did, Rochelle ignored it. “Nah, you'll do. Now move it.”
Was she instructing the Obelisk to follow? But... she wasn't allowed down there even if she wanted to. “Di- The Master doesn't want me to go down there. So um, no?”
Rochelle's red eyes narrowed dangerously and she all but snarled, “You do as you're told, pet!”
“But I'm the Master's-”
“Personal attendant, yeah yeah.” The Gaoler tossed her head dramatically, mocking the position. “s'far as I care that means you still serve the Keep as a whole. So learn some respect and get your arse down here! I need help moving something and those layabout Guardians have up and buggered off again.”
Doubt and dread held Daedalon in place like shackles. Should she go? It would mean going against Diaemus' order not to. And it felt wrong to go down there. At the same time she was very curious since she'd never seen the dungeons before. And since the Guardian guards were apparently absent today...
...she
was very curious to see what was down there. Maybe if she didn't stay long and didn't mention that she did.
The shackle of doubt let go and she began to slowly walk the stairs she had only traversed once, twice if you counted the return journey as separate, but dread's grip tightened as a chillness that had not been there last time cut straight through her fur. It made her tremble, aided by her general weakened state. What was this feeling?
A sigh from further down. “Look, I get you were ill but I'm not carrying you.” Could she at least stop shouting? The echo of the stairwell made her terse words hammer the inside of her head like mallets. With a low growl Daedalon pushed herself onwards, the shackle firmly in place but merely dragging, slowing her down.
Sure enough the pair of Guardians that had been here last time were gone, Rochelle's bushy tail swishing around into the dark passage they had been watching. The air down here was thick and musty, dust catching in her throat and making her cough as each pawfall sent up a cloud. Why was it so filthy down here when it was clearly in use? It didn't appear to affect the slate-coloured Gaoler either, not so much as a snuffle leaving her. In the little torchlight that reached inside there were obvious footprints and clear patches where Rochelle had made this trek before, her tail fur inadvertently clearing a path.
Why was it so dark here now though? Sconces lined the walls, covered in soot and bearing the long burnt-out remains of old light sources, little more than charcoal. Still the strange dragon kept going, unperturbed by the darkness. Had she memorised the way through? Or, could she really see...? Daedalon shivered, unsettled.
Soon the corridor led into a large chamber; she could feel the openness more than see it in the gloom and the echoes of her footsteps were less concentrated. Up ahead, on the right, was an odd glow that was... hard to describe. Getting closer it seemed to be coming from a black orb made from an unknown and highly unsettling magic. Despite the darkness it gave off some kind of light. How did that make sense? It wasn't black but it wasn't... really any colour. Yet some aura gave vision in this spot. Bars glinted in the strange darklight. Daedalon couldn't help but investigate, poking her snout up to the bars to study the orb.
Then stepped back, aghast: there was a dragon in there! Squinting the curious Obelisk approached the bars once more, peering at the curled shape suspended inside. It was hard to pick out the colour but that didn't matter, as the figure was wearing some familiar clothing. A dress of sorts. A fur-lined cloak. “Eudoxia...?” She couldn't help asking aloud, her voice sounding loud in the silence. That was the other thing that bothered the blue dragon – there were no other sounds beyond the footsteps. That quickly changed as a startled yelp escaped her, causing her to back-pedal again and kicking a wooden bucket full of water.
The Fae was staring at her through the impossible magic film.
Alive. Daedalon found herself equal parts creeped out and relieved by this. Why was the advisor down here? Trapped like this?
“Quit playing with the traitor!” Roared Rochelle from the other side of the room. At least, it was opposite where Daedalon was.
Traitor... What exactly had happened? Images of that day flitted through her mind: Rochelle squeezing Eudoxia with far too much enthusiasm, the advisor's claims, Diaemus' response. Eggs and hatchlings going missing. She'd blamed him. Why? The Fae held her gaze through the orb prison. Then her jaw moved as the Obelisk began to turn. Daedalon squinted, trying to make out the movement of the tiny, restrained dragon. Was she... speaking? Watch her lips...
Lee... Swowa... ee... wee... ee... you? Well that didn't make sense, but between their size difference, the odd, dim glow and Daedalon's inability to lip-read the message was lost on her. Regardless, she took it to heart, pausing only long enough to notice the faint outline of a leaf poking through the wall behind the sphere. Flashing Eudoxia a final, confused yet courteous nod she picked her way carefully to where it sounded like Rochelle was waiting.
“Neat huh? That magic?” The change in the Gaoler's demeanour took Daedalon by surprise, though it wasn't a shock that she'd be gloating given her performance a few days prior. “Made it m'self. We Gaolers are masters of keeping things locked up.” The sickening amount of pride in her gruff voice made the Obelisk want to slap her.
She almost did by accident. Stumbling around in the darkness the curly-maned dragon almost walked straight into Rochelle, who snarled and backed up. “You blithering idiot! You godsdamned blind?!”
“Yes!” It wasn't in Daedalon's nature to snap but all of the tension of the last while had finally built into a mini Crescendo. Having to deal with this insufferable dragon was the last straw. Apparently she hadn't expected that response, her faded features contorting in surprise.
“You... are?”
“Well I can't see without any light!”
Rochelle blinked a few times as if it wasn't common knowledge that dragons not from Shadow flight couldn't see in the dark. “...oh.” She said simply at length. “Guess I'm so used to it that I didn't think about anyone else. That would explain why the runt was so clumsy.”
“Saisset.”
“What?”
“His name is Saisset.”
“Name shname let's get on with this.”
Daedalon huffed, following the Gaoler as she turned down a passage behind what she thought had been the far wall. As it turned out there was a small room hidden behind said wall, which had been wide enough that it, too, might have dungeon cells in it. So either way she'd been wrong. Rochelle grunted with effort, something heavy grinding over the flagstone. A foul stench wafted up from below, making her gag. A mixture of stagnant water, rot and decaying plants.
“Wait here.”
The fluffy shape vanished, leaving Daedalon alone in the dark. The cold dark. The unnaturally, indescribably terrifying dark. And the
smell. What was down there? Rochelle said to wait, did that mean she had to go down as well? How long had they even been down here now? Saisset was probably worried about her not showing up again. How would he react to she wasn't in her room? As the Obelisk fought to not throw up something flickered below, a circular hole by her paws illuminated by fire as the Gaoler returned with a lit torch. Finally, she could see!
“Alright you big baby, get down here.” Yep, there it was. Once again the shackle of dread held her back. If it had felt wrong before, it was even more so down there. “Move it!”
“No! I don't like this!” It was about time she stood up for herself. She was
not going down there.
“I don't care.”
Daedalon didn't budge, glancing back a few times as she considered finding the way back the way they'd come in. There was an echoing grunt behind her, a scrabbling sound, suddenly the room was lit up as Rochelle clawed her way back up. But... it had been so far down. And Gaoler's can't fly. So how did she-
No time to react. With an unnatural strength the slate-coloured dragon took hold of Daedalon's thick mane, throwing her towards the hole. Almost toppling in the Obelisk gripped the edge tightly to save herself from falling, only to be shoved from behind. She screamed, only barely remembering to flare her wings before colliding with the ground.
Which was slick and slippery. She gasped in disgust. Rochelle landed neatly behind her, started walking down the rancid tunnel. Didn't even look back, expecting Daedalon to follow. With the warm glow of fire dimming it became difficult to make out where the gap they'd falling in through was. There was little use trying to fly out, and even if she did she'd still need to work out how to get back out to the stairs.
That and she really wasn't strong enough to launch herself that high yet.
Slumping in defeat the Obelisk fell into step behind the Gaoler as the dark-furred dragon led them further into the stench. Each step they took the fouler it seemed to get. Where were they? Had this always been beneath the Keep? She'd heard rumours of tunnels and chambers deep in the hill, was this one of them? Dread's shackle had become less cold steel and more a ring of frost that was steadily growing up her legs, her back. She shivered again, more violently this time.
Rats scurried about, frightened and blinded by the sudden appearance of fire. Hundred of them, it felt, flooded over the lip of the tunnel and into cracks and holes in a square room. Out of one tunnel and into another for the dragons as Rochelle kept a steady, unbothered gait, forcing Daedalon to trot a few times to keep up in her weakened state.
“How far are we going?” She finally asked, instantly regretting it as the sewer smells entered her mouth, choking her and lining her tongue with filth.
Ignoring the sputtering Rochelle merely replied, “Not much further.”
“What is this place?” Daedalon had learned the first time, but the question needed to be asked. Also, how was the other dragon so unaffected by all this?
“What do you think?”
Daedalon didn't ask anything else. Rochelle wasn't about to give a straight answer and it wasn't worth clogging her lungs with whatever was in the fetid air. A few more minutes of slurping, slapping footsteps and finally the pair emerged into another chamber, with more tunnel openings above and below their exit. Once again they hopped down, the light and movement disturbing countless rats and bats and other creatures living down here. They stood on a thin walkway, gaps yawning on either side. Water flowed below. She did not want to think about what kind. Liquid dribbled from the other, grated tunnels into the whatever-it-was.
A corner. They turned. Followed the walkway into another, smaller chamber separated by a sort of gate. Maybe this place hadn't always been a sewer. Or this part had been built in recently. It felt different from everything else so far. A round room, a table sat in the middle with a cloth draped over it. The shape of the cloth suggested something had been covered, though it was difficult to tell what. A thick, black liquid dripped off the closest edge, pooling on the stone floor. Through a hole, Daedalon realised, in a torn and faded carpet that lay in a cross-shape leading to the centre. To the table. The walls were indented, shaped as shelves for large objects, now filled with containers of some sort and tools she could not put a name to. Objects wrapped in linen. Candles. Bottle. Jars. Vials and beakers. Each and every one of them had the same viscous liquid as what was dripping off the table.
“This,” Rochelle jutted a digit with a too-long talon at the thing under the cloth, “is what we need to move. I need you to tie it up while I hold it. Much easier with a second set of claws.” Again ice spiked up her back as the Gaoler circled the room, lighting a few wall sconces as she went.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. The word, the feeling beat in time with her quickening pulse. A set of stairs spiralling up, outside the room caught the Obelisk's eye as Rochelle lit the torch nearby, a second one mirroring it on the other side. She thought about bolting, getting away from this wretched place. The smell was at its worst now, making it hard to breathe. She stood firm, however, until the Gaoler returned.
It was hard to tell if it was done on purpose or not.
As the other dragon passed the table she stepped on a corner of cloth that had been dangling near the floor, claws catching, pulled it off.
The shape was a Skydancer, their throat all the way down to the tail missing, revealing the skeleton inside. No organs, only the same murky blackness. Blacker than black. Oozing. Devouring.
Empty eyesockets in an intact but matted face, frozen in pain. More fluid ate through the underside of the jaw like acid.
Daedalon's legs buckled at the sight, taking in the leaden plumage, the purple wings. The armour.
“Rey...”
And then it went dark.
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